


You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here (the Closing Time Remix)

by Meatball42



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Memory Magic, Memory Related, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: While the rogue Avengers flee the Raft, Wanda’s magic sends Steve and Bucky on a detour to the past.





	You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here (the Closing Time Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This Is Our Last Dance (the Under Pressure remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702729) by [actonbell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actonbell/pseuds/actonbell). 



As soon as Steve’s mysteriously high-tech jet flew the escaped Avengers off the Raft, they hit a powerful storm-front. Sam figured it was a good thing, since it meant no one from the Raft would be able to follow the jet’s flight over the Atlantic- if this kind of jet even  _ could _ be tracked. But the rain pummelled the windows in the cockpit, the darkness pressed in on all sides, and with the sure knowledge that the US military was currently mobilizing against them-

Well, the atmosphere on the jet was strained.

The initial adrenaline of escape, the joy of freedom and reconciliation, soured as the minutes went on and Wanda failed to respond. Scott and Clint worked together to remove the military-grade straightjacket and the collar that locked away Wanda’s powers, but even when they were gone, the young woman simply stared into the air. Clint held her hand and spoke gently to her, trying to call her back, but she barely even blinked.

Barnes sat on the other side of the jet, moodily sucking on a protein pack. He hadn’t been happy when Sam insisted on treating a bullet wound he’d sustained during the escape. Considering its placement, Sam figured Barnes would normally have used his metal arm to deflect the shot, but the arm that was now cut off at the shoulder, hastily covered with a wrapping that made Sam cluck when he saw it.

Sam locked away the extensive medical kit the jet provided. He pretended not to notice the way Scott was eying the up the jet with a hoarding curiosity in his eyes, and he pointedly ignored the way Barnes was sulking and occasionally glowering at the side of Sam’s face.

Sam gingerly sat in the copilot seat beside Steve, babying his bruised ribs. Steve glanced at him, wincing slightly at Sam’s quiet hitch of breath. Sam ignored that, too.

He checked over the jet’s systems, which were thrown up in a disconcerting holographic display. With the advanced technology obviously crammed into every inch of it… somehow Sam wasn’t surprised that Steve had opted out of plotting a course into autopilot and was instead navigating them from coordinates in his own memory.

“You know where we’re going?” he asked dubiously.

Steve smiled. “You doubting me?”

“Just as long as we’re not going in a circle,” Sam joked.

The smile faded as Steve obviously remembered the Raft. “I owe all of you an apology-”

“No,” Sam said, certain enough to make Steve listen. “We’re all adults, we made our own choices. You can say thank you, but not sorry.”

Steve considered this before nodding. “Then thanks,” he said. 

Sam smiled back. “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

He shifted in his seat and a sharp jolt went up his side, making him hiss.

“You alright?” Steve’s look of concern was overkill, and Sam was in just enough pain to snap a little.

“Better than your boy over there. What were you thinking, letting him show up for a fight in that condition?”

Steve shook his head. “He volunteered.”

“He got his arm blown off. Flesh or not, his balance was screwed up. That’s why he got shot.”

“Bucky’s not the type to leave a man behind,” Steve said with finality. His hands clenched on the ergonomic jet controls. “You’re my team, and you got caught because of us. It’s not the first time we ran a rescue mission in bad shape.”

“Does he even remember those other missions?” Sam pressed. It was a question that had been on his mind ever since they teamed up with Barnes to take down the Russian hit squad. Even if he was supposedly on the good side, how much of him was in there? 

“I don’t know. But some things don’t change.”

Sam sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “Everything changes, Steve.”

Steve set his jaw stubbornly and didn’t reply.

Behind them, Clint exclaimed, “Cap, I think she’s-”

 

~ ~ * ~ ~

 

The familiar motion of a train, bouncing around on a rickety track, lulled Bucky to wakefulness. He felt well-rested, warm, comfortable, even though he was laying on a cold wood floor. There were no unhappy memories from before this moment, and nothing calling him to get up. For once, he just enjoyed his own breathing.

The train began to slow.

“Come on sleepyhead. End of the line.”

Bucky groaned, but Steve was nudging his shoulder with a booted toe. He dragged himself into a sitting position and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

When he finally blinked around, he recognized the train car from his nightmares. The side of the car was blown out, but all he could see was…

“Nearly home,” Steve commented. He was sitting with his back against the wall, not five feet from the hole Bucky had fallen through, once upon a time. His legs stretched out toward Bucky. He was wearing civilian clothes, the kind Bucky hadn’t seen since before the war.

The rest of the car was empty. No dead Hydra minions, no red white and blue shield.

“You hungry?” Steve asked. “I’m hungry. How about that place down the road from the station, by the butcher’s?”

Bucky thought for a long moment. “I could eat,” he decided.

A few minutes later the train grumbled to a slow stop in a neighborhood Bucky recognized. This was where Steve had waved him off when he’d headed to boot camp.

Caught in his memories, Bucky gasped when Steve hopped out of the car to the ground. Steve gave him a gentle look. “Here, I got you.”

Bucky approached the hole in the side of the car with trepidation. Steve reached up, just a few feet, but it felt like miles. Bucky took his hand- Steve squeezed it very tightly- and dropped the short distance to the ground.

He felt the landing in his bones.

“That wasn’t so bad, huh?” Steve said quietly. He hooked an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and held him for a moment. 

Bucky shivered helplessly for a moment. Then a breeze reached him and the familiar scents of Brooklyn, of  _ home _ , took over. He perked up visibly and Steve laughed.

“Yeah, you’re fine.”

Steve tugged him away from the train in the direction of the diner he’d mentioned. Bucky tucked one arm around Steve, keeping him close the way Steve’s arm around his shoulders didn’t want to let go either. In their free hands, both carried luggage. They were fresh home from the war, after all.

Bucky goggled at the sights around them. The familiar clothes, the cars, advertisements… the way peoples’ voices sounded. It was so right, in some dreamlike way, filling up a hole inside Bucky didn’t even know was there. And at the same time, it was faded, distant, like old photographs.

“We’re here,” Steve told him. He broke away from Bucky to open the diner door.

The restaurant was just the way Bucky remembered it, as though he’d visited it the day before. He sat down across from Steve in a booth, setting down their duffels beside them. The waitress who came to take their order welcomed them back home, smiling at Steve with a twinkle in her eye. Steve blushed when he noticed.

Bucky watched the exchange with a detached amusement. It was sweet, and everything he’d wanted for his friend, once. But it wasn’t anymore, was it?

Bucky looked around the diner and things started to come loose. Steve was wearing a normal infantryman’s uniform. The waitress’s haircut had been in a style popular before the war. And Bucky…

He looked down at his two flesh and bone hands and wondered why he wasn’t panicking.

Steve sighed. “Not right, huh?”

Bucky glared at him. “This isn’t real, is it?”

“It could be,” Steve said softly. “Just for a few minutes.”

“I’ve had enough false memories, Steve.”

Chastened, Steve dipped his head, but then he straightened his shoulders. “And how many real ones do you have? This place-” he nodded to the counter, the soda fountain, “-this was real. We’ve been here. Do you remember?”

Bucky looked more closely at their surroundings. Everything he looked at became clearer the more he tried to remember. Saving up pennies for treats, getting yelled at for scuffling in the store, watching girls sipping on their drink and giggling... 

There was a woman at the end of the counter. She was dressed in a tight black coat, and her bright red hair was in a style from… the 1980s.

“You want to remember, don’t you?” Steve asked. He sounded hurt, and Bucky forced his eyes away from the hazy woman. “You were trying to remember your life before the war. I didn’t bring us here on purpose, but- I think it’s a good thing.”

The woman got up from the counter, leaving a coffee mug behind that had a perfect red lips print on the rim. She walked toward the door, but faded to nothing as she walked. Before she reached the front of the store, she was gone.

Steve took Bucky’s hand- the hand that shouldn’t be there. “Buck?”

“I’m not gonna remember everything,” Bucky warned.

“I know.”

“And some things I need to remember… I can’t do that here.”

Steve frowned. “Are you sure you want to remember Hydra?”

Bucky blinked at the door, where the woman’s afterimage hung in the air. “I don’t know what it is I want to remember. But being here…” He looked again at the generic diner, familiar and distant, a place he both knew and couldn’t place, and shook his head. “This isn’t right. This didn’t happen. It never will.”

“Okay, Buck,” Steve said softly. He tightened his grip on Bucky’s hand and the world faded out.

 

~ ~ * ~ ~

 

“He’s coming out of it!” Scott called from the back of the jet. “Repeat, scary guy is waking up!”

Steve twitched in his seat. Sam stood up to check Steve’s pulse. It was just about back to normal, no longer slow enough to imply near death.

As he back down with a groan, Sam’s own heart rate finally started to settle from the flood of adrenaline that Steve started by passing out while flying the jet with its disengaged autopilot. Not buckled in, Scott and Clint had been thrown across the jet and Sam barely managed to grab a handhold himself, and they’d dipped for a solid fifteen seconds before Sam could stabilize them.

Sam vowed, right then and there, never to let an Army guy fly him around again.

“Wanda’s waking up,” Clint reported.

“Steve’s awake,” Sam replied, still annoyed. He poked Steve’s bicep. “You still alive?”

Steve unclipped his belt and was out of his seat before Sam could rise. He nearly tripped over his own feet on the way to the back of the jet. Sam swore and followed.

Steve was already on his knees, holding Barnes’ remaining hand. “Bucky?” he rasped. “How do you feel?” He was intent on the answer, too intent, and Sam frowned in suspicion.

Barnes blinked, slowly considered his words like he had every time Sam had seen him talk. “I’m alright.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief, then nodded with carefully hidden disappointment.

Then Barnes smiled, a small, mischievous thing. “Punk,” he chided.

The jet flew on through the storm, but inside, Steve smiled like the sun had just broken through the clouds.


End file.
